Once You've Seen It (You Won't See Nothing Else at All)
by themostrandomfandom
Summary: Three times when Brittany and Santana celebrate Halloween together over the years. An expansion on a story originally written for the Brittana U Monster Fic Mash in 2012. Mouseverse.
1. October 31st, 2008

**I.**

**October 31st, 2008**

One of the only drawbacks to being fifteen years old is that on Halloween, there's pretty much nothing to do.

Brittany doesn't really miss the candy, but she does kind of miss trick-or-treating, mainly because she and Santana used to go together.

This year, they're too old to go trick-or-treating for themselves but too young to score invitations to the coolest parties with people from school. They can't drive, so it's not like they can attend the Lake Eerie Fearfest in Sandusky or go out joyriding or check out the all-night horror film marathon at the movie theater or anything, either.

Brittany's mom gave them a choice: they could either "chaperone" Brittany's little sister while she went trick-or-treating, or they could stay home and "man the door" while Brittany's mom and dad chaperoned Brittany's sister instead.

The promise of having the whole house to themselves was too much for Brittany and Santana to pass up, even on a night when the doorbell is bound to ring ten-bijillion times.

Brittany's parents left with Brittany's sister an hour-and-a-half ago, and Brittany and Santana have been alone at Brittany's house ever since. Neither one of them wears a costume, but both of them sneak mini-Snickers bars out of the candy bowl as they flit between the front foyer and the living room, answering the door and cozying themselves in for the evening.

Even though Brittany and Santana don't have plans beyond watching It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown, Brittany still feels excited at the prospect of spending the whole night in Santana's company.

Lately, Brittany has wanted nothing more than to touch Santana and be close to her, not even just in a sexy way—though the sexy way is amazing—but just in general, like in every way, from linking pinkies with Santana while they walk down the hall to playing with Santana's hair as they lie down together at sleepovers to feeling Santana breathe against her when they cuddle on the couch.

Brittany can't get enough of it—can't get enough of Santana.

Sometimes, Santana refuses to talk about certain things, but Brittany can read them in her when she and Santana touch. She can feel them in Santana's motions and tics, in the way that Santana turns from soft to sharp and closed to open and every little in-between. Santana is a book Brittany always wants to read.

Brittany hopes that she'll get all sorts of Santana and as much as she wants tonight—that she can snuggle up and read Santana for hours. She also secretly hopes that maybe Santana might want to make out tonight, maybe during the movie and afterwards, too.

Almost nothing about Santana tells Brittany as much as when they kiss.

Brittany knows she shouldn't get her hopes up too high because Santana is pretty particular about when it's okay for them to touch and kiss and when it isn't, but Brittany can't help it.

Touching and kissing Santana is better than candy.

And she hasn't been able to stop sneaking Snickers bars yet tonight.

By the time Brittany and Santana gather up all the blankets and throw pillows that they want to lounge on during the movie, it's just starting to get dark outside.

All the little-little kids—like the ones who are too young to even realize why they're dressed up or what they're dressed up as—have already come through the neighborhood. Some of them couldn't even say the words "Trick or treat" yet, so they just looked up at Brittany and Santana with big, wet eyes and snotty noses, glitter paint smeared over their cheeks and their fairy wings and ladybug bobble headbands and cowboy hats askew. Their parents said the words for them, and Brittany and Santana set candy into their plastic pumpkins very gently, as if stacking wooden blocks in a tower.

Now the older kids will start to come along, some of them with chaperones and some of them without.

"That last little fireman was pretty adorable, sucking his thumb," Brittany says.

Santana just rolls her eyes in the way that means that she agrees but isn't going to say so. She smiles, so pretty that Brittany can hardly stand it, and rifles through a stack of Halloween DVDs, searching for Charlie Brown and hovering near the television set.

"What do you think Quinn's doing tonight?" she asks as if she doesn't care, even though she really does. "I mean, besides not putting out for Finn, obviously."

Brittany shrugs. "I dunno. Probably homework or praying or something. Like, doesn't her family believe that Halloween is Satan's birthday?"

Santana smirks, wicked. "We should call and invite her over for ritual blood-letting."

Brittany smirks, wickeder. "Or virgin sacrifice—that would totally freak her out."

Both Brittany and Santana laugh just as the doorbell rings. Santana sets down the DVDs on the coffee table and reaches for the candy bowl. "I dare you to yell 'Boo!' really loud when we open the door, Britt," she says, gesturing for Brittany to follow her as they go to greet the trick-or-treaters.

Brittany imitates her mom's best scolding voice. "Santana! I'm not gonna try to freak out a bunch of little kids," she reproves.

As they cram into the front foyer, Brittany stands just at Santana's shoulder, fully expecting a group of miniature Jack Sparrows, Harry Potter characters, and Shreks to greet her and Santana once they open the door. Brittany leans in just a bit, touching at Santana's elbow, absorbing Santana's warmth into her own skin, waiting for the chorus of happy shouting.

But it doesn't come.

Instead, the door swings open.

At once, Santana says, "Aren't you a little old for trick-or-treating? What the hell are you even supposed to be?" in a way that sounds more like sour Warheads than sweet chocolate.

At once, Noah Puckerman jibes back. "I'm supposed to be a serial killer, but clearly you're supposed to be a bitch."

Puck stands at the front of a group of boys from school, with Finn just behind him, a sophomore lineman to his right, and Matt Rutherford to his left. All four of the boys hold pillowcases, which already sag low with candy.

Puck wears a hockey mask pushed up on his forehead, his face totally exposed. He also wears a dun-colored detective trench coat over his regular clothes. Beyond that, he doesn't really look dressed up at all. Finn sports army fatigues and has shaded his face with marker to make it look like he has stubble. Matt Rutherford isn't even wearing a costume, just his letterman jacket and a sombrero. The sophomore lineman dons his football jersey and has face paint-blood dribbling out of the corner of his mouth.

Brittany feels Santana's body tense, but Santana plays it cool. She makes a scoffing noise and starts to gesture Brittany away from the door so that she can shut it in Puck's face. "Whatever," she says, flippant. "We're not giving you any candy. You're old enough to buy it yourself."

Wearing her mean smile, she starts to glide the door shut, but Puck grabs hold of the door, blocking Santana from shutting it. Santana lets out a little gasp in surprise at his assertiveness.

"No way," Puck says. "It's Halloween, and we're trick-or-treaters. You're supposed to give us candy, woman."

He fixes Santana with a nasty smirk, and suddenly Brittany wishes that Santana had just slammed the door instead of shutting it slowly so that Puck couldn't have stopped her in the act.

Brittany fidgets, still stuck behind Santana and feeling increasingly uncomfortable with every passing moment that the boys stand on her stoop. She shifts her weight between her feet.

Brittany's family has a rule that she can't invite people over unless her parents are home, and somehow it feels like Puck and his friends are breaking that rule, even if they're just trick-or-treating and Brittany didn't invite them over to her house at all.

What if Brittany's parents show up and see the boys and think that Brittany and Santana called them over? Worse yet, what if Santana and Puck get into a fight without any adults around to stop it? Brittany can already feel the sharpness mounting in Santana, the tautening in her like a string.

Usually, Puck is harmless, but sometimes he gets to Santana and she loses it with him. Brittany doesn't like it when Santana gets really angry because when Santana gets really angry, she almost always gets really sad and closed-off afterwards, too.

Santana's cool is kind of like a balloon: the louder it is when it blows up, the less of it there is leftover afterwards.

Brittany doesn't want Santana to have little, stringy balloon-rubber feelings pretty much ever, but especially not on Halloween. She doesn't like the way that Santana seems to tighten and shrink down each time Puck says something rude. Tonight is supposed to be a fun night for just Brittany and Santana.

Why does Puck have to be such a brat?

"You didn't say 'Trick-or-treat,'" Brittany objects.

"Trick-or-fucking-treat," Puck says.

"Trick-or-treat," echo Matt Rutherford, Finn, and the sophomore lineman.

The boys hold out their pillowcases, expectant, and Santana looks like she still wants to shut the door, never mind it if she crushes Puck's fingers in the hinge, but Brittany feels something crumbling inside of herself.

For as wrong as it seems for the boys to be at her house, it seems even more wrong to turn them away without giving them any candy, like it's something that Brittany and Santana could get in trouble for doing.

After all, it is Halloween.

Plus, Brittany doesn't want the boys to egg her house later on in the night. She also doesn't want Puck to start a fight with Santana. Santana has a fight inside her right now, and it might spill out at any second if Puck says or does the wrong thing. Brittany ghosts her fingers over Santana's back, trying to soothe some of the edge out of her. She wants this to be a happy night, but that will only happen if she can get rid of Puck and his crew fast.

"One candy bar each," she says, reaching around Santana to take the bowl and start parceling out the Snickers.

"Only one each? Come on, Brittany! We weren't doing anything. It was Puck!" Finn complains.

Santana huffs. "We're saving them for the kids—you know, the ones who are actually supposed to be trick-or-treating because they're the right age for it?"

"Don't be pressed, Lopez," Puck shoots back.

And just like that, Brittany sees it—the change from bratty to mean in him, like the glint of metal when the light hits it just so. Puck lunges forward, snatching at the bowl, trying to take it away from Santana before Brittany can get it, but Santana reacts to Puck's movement by grabbing onto the bowl more tightly. Hands fumble, the boys shout, and Brittany closes her eyes for just an instant, jostling backwards as Santana moves in front of her. Brittany hears a clatter.

When she opens her eyes again, the candy bowl is on the ground and mini-Snickers litter the front stoop like a pile of gold coins in a bank in a cartoon. The boys let up whoops of excitement and scramble forward, starting to sweep the mini-Snickers from the stoop into their pillowcases, greedy like pecking hens.

Puck gets the bulk of it, and Matt Rutherford and the sophomore lineman clean up after him. Finn just sort of stands there, stunned. Santana yells and slaps at Puck, saying all sorts of bad words in Spanish. Puck deflects her blows with his elbows and shoulders. His hockey mask slips down from his forehead to half-conceal his face.

"Happy Halloween!" he smirks, turning to run away, as though Santana might chase him.

Matt Rutherford and the sophomore lineman start to run away, too. Finn trips over his army boots but recovers before he falls down.

"That was for little kids, Puckerman!" Santana shouts, but Puck just flips her the finger, sprinting down Brittany's front walk and onto Brittany's street. He laughs, pleased with himself, and the other boys laugh, too. He turns his back to Brittany's house, his trench coat flapping behind him as he hurries out from the glow of the streetlights and into the deepening twilight.

Brittany can still feel the sharpness in Santana, and she knows that she only has a few seconds to stop Santana's balloon from popping all at once. Quickly, Brittany says, "My mom left another candy bag. Lucky the bowl was plastic so it didn't break or anything. Those guys are so juvenile."

Santana returns to herself as if from a fog, shaking her head. Brittany sets a hand on her elbow, and she relaxes a bit. Santana makes a scoffing noise into the darkening night. The boys are gone from sight now, gone from sound. Santana stoops to pick up one of the last remaining Snickers bars from the stoop.

"Entirely," she says, agreeing with Brittany on delay. "We should, like... call Puck's mom and tell her that her son is being a delinquent again." She pauses for a second, biting her lip. When she talks again, she doesn't look at Brittany. Instead, she looks at the Snickers bar in her hands. "Quinn says Puck acts that way to me because he likes me."

Now it's Brittany's turn to make a scoffing noise and Brittany's turn to feel sharp inside—not at Santana but at Puck and kind of at Quinn, or at least at what Quinn said.

"If he likes you, he should be nice to you," Brittany says bluntly.

"Puck isn't nice to anyone," Santana mumbles, retrieving the bowl from the stoop.

Brittany holds the door open so that Santana can come back into the house. Once Santana steps inside, Brittany closes the door, ushering Santana towards the kitchen so that they can refill the bowl with more candy. "Even if he's mean to everyone else, he should be nice to you if he likes you. That's the way it works," she shrugs.

She doesn't mention how she knows what she knows, but she says it in a firm way, so that Santana can tell that she's serious—that her meaning is important.

Something shows through in Santana's look, a candy sweetness replacing all the sour that used to be there before.

"What would I do without you to look out for me, BrittBritt?" she says suddenly, turning around to pull Brittany into a hug, even with the empty bowl and the extra candy bar still in her hands.

She nuzzles against Brittany's neck, and Brittany lets her do it. Now neither one of them has any sharpness left inside. Now Puck and the boys seem a million miles away. Brittany breathes with Santana's body fitted against hers. They melt together.

"We should put the movie in before more trick-or-treaters come," she says into Santana's hair, giving Santana little squeeze and kissing the top of her head.

It's an intimate thing to do—more intimate than Santana will sometimes allow—but tonight Santana doesn't flinch or balk. In fact, Santana doesn't say anything of it as she and Brittany extricate themselves from each other. She just pinks in the cheeks in a way that tells Brittany that she felt it, that she felt the kiss.

It isn't the sort of kiss that Brittany expected to give Santana tonight, but somehow Brittany felt like she needed to do it—like it mattered beyond just the moment. When Santana brushes her fingers over Brittany's wrist, Brittany feels pretty sure that it did. She also starts to feel like maybe she should kiss Santana for real, for real.

But then she hears the dinosaur-squall of the garage door in the distance.

Santana winces and pulls away. "Your parents are home," she says quickly.

"They were only gone like two hours," Brittany pouts.

"I bet the munchkin ate too much candy already and made herself sick," Santana says.

For the few seconds before Brittany's parents come into the house, Brittany and Santana stare at each other, silent. Even though they're not touching, Brittany feels Santana as if they are—as if something connects them together.

Brittany doesn't miss trick-or-treating, but somehow she can miss Santana even when they're standing in the same room together, even when they're looking at each other, even with the print of a kiss to Santana still warm on her lips.

All at once, Santana says, "Thanks, Britt," quick and light like a bird chirp, and rocks up onto her tiptoes, pressing a kiss half onto Brittany's chin and half onto Brittany's mouth. It's a haphazard motion, totally spontaneous, but Brittany feels it everywhere.

Santana is usually so careful about when and where she and Brittany kiss and touch, but tonight Santana just allows it to happen however, like she can't get enough of it, either, like she and Brittany feel the same.

The back door creaks open, and the sounds of feet and motion announce themselves through the house.

Brittany's dad calls out from the kitchen, "Hey, girls, how'd it go?"

Brittany's sister's voice follows his, and Brittany and Santana hear her pad across the wooden floor, moving in a blur. "Did anybody from my school come trick-or-treating here?" she asks, as if Brittany and Santana would know her schoolmates, even if her schoolmates weren't in costume.

Brittany's mom says, "I hope you two weren't bored. Did you find something to do?"

There's nothing really to do on Halloween for fifteen year-olds who don't have their driver's licenses yet, but somehow Brittany thinks that she and Santana managed to do enough anyhow. Santana's kiss still pulses in Brittany's skin, and Brittany's smiles, dopey, sending Santana a warm look.

"We were gonna watch Charlie Brown."


	2. October 29th, 2011

**II.**

**October 29th, 2011**

Okay, so maybe going on a haunted hayride with Brittany's mom, dad, and little sister isn't the coolest date in the world or anything, but Brittany still thinks that it's a fun thing to do and feels really glad to have Santana along with her, even if Santana doesn't actually know that it's a date.

Brittany grins at Santana like a goof all the way through the parking lot. When the family stands in line, Santana fidgets and Brittany can tell that it's because Santana wants to hold her hand. Brittany and Santana haven't held hands in public yet, but they've started holding hands a lot in Brittany's bedroom, like when they watch movies or sometimes when they fall asleep together.

They never used to hold hands before, just pinky fingers.

Now Santana hovers at Brittany's elbow and stands on tiptoe to see whether the line is moving or not, brushing up against Brittany's jacket like it's an accident, only it isn't—it's a wish.

"I could pay for my own ticket," Santana offers, helpless, as Brittany's dad steps up to the window to purchase a family pass.

"I got it, Santana-banana," Brittany's dad declines, waving her off.

Overhead, the sky is close-black and starless. Around them, the night air has no summertime heat left in it, just autumn chill. Bright floodlights illuminate the parking lot and the ticket booth, but the forest beyond the parking lot looms dark, a matrix of taller and smaller branches. Dried leaves scuttle along the asphalt, crablike.

Brittany reaches out and tugs the flap on the back of Santana's letterman jacket to distract Santana from being so nervous. She guides Santana around to face her. "Hey, you," she says, feeling bright all over, even though it's dark outside.

"Hey," Santana says back, her voice high and soft.

Brittany grins at Santana. "I'm really glad you're here."

For a second, Santana's eyes dart back and forth between Brittany's, and Brittany can almost see Santana marking a tally in her mind—one point in favor of this outing being a date. Brittany decides right then to help Santana mark a lot more mental tallies tonight. She smiles at Santana, wide. When she does, Santana's eyes turn soft.

"I'm really glad you invited me," Santana says, and it somehow sounds like a bigger confession than it actually is.

"Well, I'm really glad you accepted my invitation."

"And I'm really glad that you—"

"Mom! They're doing that thing again!" Brittany's little sister wails, and Brittany turns to see her little sister stomping her shoes hard against the pavement, like whatever it is that she thinks that Brittany and Santana are doing is somehow just too much for her to stand.

"What thing?"

Brittany's mom hardly minds Brittany's sister's complaint, paying more attention to whether Brittany's dad remembers to put his credit card back in his wallet or not than to what's going on around her or to anything that Brittany and Santana might possibly be doing wrong.

"They're being all grateful to each other," Brittany's sister gripes.

"And that's bad?" Brittany's mom quirks an eyebrow, genuinely confused.

Brittany's sister just huffs, like she can't believe their mom doesn't see the problem. Her breath crystallizes, white against the dark and cold. She shoves her hands deeper into her pockets.

"It's gross," she explains.

Brittany's dad winks at Brittany and Santana. "Stop being so nice to each other, you two," he jokes. "You know how we feel about that kind of behavior in this family."

Brittany just rolls her eyes at her dad, but Santana swallows hard and looks like she genuinely wants to apologize to everyone for being too nice or something. She glances back and forth between Brittany's parents and Brittany's sister and Brittany, and Brittany knows that she's wondering if she's somehow said or done too much.

Even though Santana doesn't know that this outing is a date, she obviously really wants it to be one. The trouble is that Santana isn't very good at allowing herself to have the things that she really wants. Sometimes it's like Santana thinks she's drowning, even though she's standing safe in super shallow water. When that happens, Brittany has to play lifeguard.

"Can't help it," Brittany says, throwing her arms around Santana from behind, leaning in for a backwards hug. At first, Santana gasps, surprised, and then she holds her breath. Brittany's fingers link around Santana's waist, and all at once she can feel Santana's heat bloom against the cold. She buries her chin against Santana's jacket, right at Santana's shoulder. "Santana is so nice that I just have to be nice back to her."

Brittany's dad laughs and musses Brittany's sister's hair. "Well, that kind of settles it, huh?" he teases. Brittany's sister just rolls her eyes, annoyed that everyone has outvoted her and ignored her complaint.

When Brittany doesn't immediately pull away from her, Santana relaxes into Brittany's touch. She breathes again. "You're too nice," she mumbles.

What she says somehow sounds like a million different kinds of thank you all at once.

* * *

They only make it five minutes into the haunted hayride before Santana starts shivering. Brittany nudges Santana with her elbow. "Are you cold?" Brittany asks, even though she already knows what Santana's answer will be.

Santana glances across the aisle at Brittany's parents and sister before she answers. "I'm fine. Thank you, Britt," she says politely, hiding her hands further into her pockets.

Despite what she claims, her knees knock together, the pleats of her Cheerios skirt flimsy over her legs. If Coach hadn't have held practice so late, maybe Santana and Brittany would have had time to change out of their cheer uniforms before meeting up with Brittany's family for the evening's activities. As it is, they're both bare-legged, though they do have their letterman jackets and Under Armour shirts on.

Brittany eyes the goosebumps over Santana's skin, suspicious. "Are you sure?" she pushes.

Everyone around them wears long pants and coats, and Brittany's little sister even sports a floppy koala bear hat with woolly ears. Santana's white breath ghosts against the shadows.

Santana smiles. "Yup," she says sweetly. Then again, "Thank you."

Brittany can't help but roll her eyes just a little bit. "Liarpants," she grins.

Fifteen minutes later, they have seen two boogeymen, Elvis, and four people dressed as zombies, plus they've listened to at least three loops of the creepy, screamy, chain-clinky Halloween soundtrack that the hayride company blasts through the woods.

Santana's teeth won't stop chattering; Brittany can actually hear them clacking together, even though Santana keeps her mouth shut.

If Brittany and Santana were alone together, Brittany would just wrap Santana up in a big hug and cuddle Santana warm, but since there are tons of people around, including Brittany's family, Brittany knows that she can't do that—not yet anyway.

"You should wear my jacket," Brittany blurts out, not really thinking.

Santana's eyes turn very wide and her voice turns very small. "But I'm already wearing my jacket, BrittBritt," Santana says, checking Brittany's parents' reaction across the aisle. "I'm fine. I promise—," but despite Santana's protests, Brittany begins extricating herself from her sleeves and setting her jacket over Santana's legs like a blanket.

"I don't want you to hurt your teeth," Brittany says gently.

Santana tries to protest, "Britt—"

But Brittany fixes her with a fervent look: "Santana Lopez, will you please wear my jacket?"

Right then, whatever argument Santana intended to make dies on her lips, and, even though it's dark, Brittany sees that wishing look glint in Santana's eyes again, like Brittany just said something that Santana wants to hear over and over on repeat, like a favorite song. Santana's smile turns very soft and she shrinks a little where she sits.

"Okay," she says, just as sweet as if Brittany had asked her to wear something way more important and expensive than a Cheerios jacket draped over her legs. For a minute, Santana remains still. Her teeth don't chatter anymore. Then she shuffles slightly on the bench and shifts the jacket to cover Brittany's legs, too. "Share?" she suggests and Brittany just nods.

She can almost see Santana mark another mental tally.

So far, Brittany thinks that this date is going pretty well.

* * *

It turns out that sharing the jacket is like the best idea ever because it means that Brittany and Santana have to squoosh in super close together on the bench and also that they can hide their hands under the jacket, where no one else can see them.

At first, they just hide their hands under the jacket to keep warm, but then they get to the scariest part of the hayride and things shift.

The Headless Horseman circles their wagon and strobe lights flash up from the path, illuminating both too much and too little of him all at once. Pretty soon, Santana starts to do that thing where she knots her hands together when she's nervous, and then Brittany can't help it—she reaches over to take Santana's hands in her own.

Santana stiffens at the contact, sitting straight up against the bench. She glances at Brittany's family and the other people across the aisle, suddenly more scared of them than of the Headless Horseman or anything else about the hayride.

It only takes her a half-second to realize that she has nothing to worry about, though; no one pays any attention to her and Brittany, and, even if someone were to pay attention to them, that person would need x-ray vision to actually see anything incriminating because the jacket hides her and Brittany's hands so perfectly.

Immediately, Santana relaxes, her grip turning easy against Brittany's. When she meets Brittany's eyes, she smiles like a kid who just threw a penny into a wishing fountain at the mall. Her smile lasts for a few seconds, and then she bites her lip, suddenly mindful of herself again.

Just looking at Santana causes Brittany's heart to twist in her chest, happy on the one hand that Santana seems so hopeful, but sad on the other hand because there's still some doubt written over Santana's features, like she can't fully believe that Brittany would ever want to hold her hand, or, worse yet, like Santana doesn't believe that she deserves to hold Brittany's hand at all, even if that's what they both want more than anything in the world.

Brittany rubs over the soft juncture between Santana's thumb and forefinger and feels Santana's pulse. Santana's heart beats, quick like love; Brittany's heart beats just the same.

* * *

After the hayride, Brittany's parents decide to take Brittany's sister to play in the kiddie hay maze, hoping to tucker her out before bedtime.

"You're welcome to wait with us," Brittany's mom offers Brittany and Santana.

But something else catches Brittany's eye.

Brittany tugs on Santana's jacket, gesturing to a sign a ways down the path. "Want to go moonlight apple picking?"

Brittany tries her best not to sound like she has her heart too set on the idea just in case Santana doesn't want to do it, but it's hard to hide the eagerness in her voice because moonlight apple picking seems like such an impossibly romantic thing to do on a date—and, after all, she and Santana are on a date, even if Santana doesn't realize it yet.

Santana flusters, wanting what she's not sure that she's allowed to want. "Um, sure," she stammers. "I mean, if your mom and dad say we can—"

"Just make sure to bring us back some apples," Brittany's dad interrupts.

"And don't climb any trees in the dark," Brittany's mom adds.

It turns out that moonlight apple picking is like the best idea ever because it allows Brittany and Santana to finally be alone together. Being alone together is awesome because it means that Brittany can help Santana mark a bunch more mental tallies before the end of their date.

It costs four dollars to buy both entry into the orchard and a one pound bag of apples and Brittany steps up right away to the ticket booth, holding out a five note to pay her and Santana's way.

"I could get that," Santana offers, helpless, at her shoulder.

Brittany smiles at her and shakes her head. "It's my treat," she says.

Only Santana could seem so relieved and so flustered all at once. "Thank you," Santana mumbles, watching as Brittany takes her change and tucks it safely into her wallet. The woman at the booth hands Brittany a burlap sack. She tells Brittany and Santana to have a good time. "Thank you," Santana says again, seeming more and more like she can't believe that this is actually happening to her.

* * *

While floodlights illuminate the ticket booth and the waiting area, the apple orchard itself is dark and rustic. Families with small children overran the hayride and the hay maze, but almost everyone in the apple orchard seems to be a teenager. Young voices come from shadows Brittany can't fully see, and white-green smartphone screens illuminate the blackness.

It takes Brittany and Santana a long time to orient themselves without being able to see. They walk slowly and in silence, learning the terrain under their feet and minding the branches around their ears and eyes, continuing on for several minutes until they pass by all the other couples around them, walking out to where the trees stand lonely and with unpicked fruit.

After a while, they stop at a random tree, though they can't really see either it or its neighbors clearly. Brittany pulls a branch towards her, examining its offerings with her fingers rather than with her eyes. She feels for broken skin, divots, and bruises, but finds none—just smooth, rubbery flesh. She doesn't know if the apple is green or red through the darkness.

"Britt?"

Santana stares at Brittany from underneath a shadow, standing very close to where Brittany stands. Santana isn't looking at the apple tree, just Brittany, though it's too dark for them to even see one another's eyes. Brittany hears nervousness in Santana's voice.

"Santana?" she says, releasing the branch she holds and taking a step forward.

Santana motions for Brittany to join her under the branches of the tree, standing right up against the trunk, and Brittany does so. She hears Santana wet her lips and shuffle against the grass. After what seems like a long time, Santana speaks.

"Britt, you know I love you right?" she asks, almost whispering even though she and Brittany are alone. She doesn't wait for Brittany to answer her question before she says, "Like, I mean, you know that I'm in love with you, don't you? Like, ridiculously in love with you. Like, I love you more than just best friends and I'm—I'm trying to do a better job at showing it, but, like—it's just—"

She runs out of words.

Brittany rescues her. "I know," she says softly, reaching out to touch Santana's arm and still her. "I'm in love with you, too. Like, crazy in love with you. Like, Beyoncé and Jay-Z crazy in love with you."

Brittany wants to tell Santana to relax and also that this whole night has been a date and that they're together-together now and have been all summer and maybe even since the end of their junior year, but Brittany knows she can't just spring news like that on Santana without giving Santana a heart attack.

She has to wait.

"Yeah?" Santana says. There's still that same want-to-but-can't-quite-believe-it in her voice.

"Yup," Brittany assures her. "Crazy, crazy in love," and before Santana can reply, Brittany leans forward, finding Santana's face in the dark and tilting up.

Santana seems to know what's coming. Her breath hitches and she stands on tiptoe, waiting for the kiss. Even though she and Brittany have kissed a lot and even made love a few times since school let out last year, Santana still acts surprised each time it happens, like every birthday and Christmas and mall fountain-wish she's ever made has just come true all at once.

At first, Brittany kisses Santana clumsily, pressing her lips haphazardly to Santana's cheek through the dark, but then Brittany trails her mouth over Santana's skin until she finds where she needs to be and nods into the touch. Santana's mouth opens, helpless, and Brittany tries to tell her without speaking.

I want to be with you.

I'm yours.

Whenever you're ready and not one second before.

Santana allows Brittany to kiss her, long and deep and slow, and then to peel back. Her breath feels warm against Brittany's skin, though everything else holds a chill.

"Thank you," Santana says, breathless, and Brittany watches her mark another dozen or one-hundred tallies in her mind. Then, all in a rush, Santana says, "Can we maybe go to BreadStix?"

Brittany thinks she knows what Santana means, but she decides to make sure, just in case. "I think it's closed for tonight—"

"Not now," Santana says quickly. "But, like, this week. After Halloween maybe?"

Brittany smiles like a goof. She takes Santana's hand in hers and gives it a little squeeze. "I'd really, really like that," she says earnestly.

She's pretty sure that Santana Lopez just asked her on a date.


	3. October 31st, 2020

**III.**

**October 31st, 2020**

Brittany's sister doesn't like to be kept waiting, but she's going to have to wait because there is no way that Brittany and Santana are going to make it out of the house, across town, and all the way to her hotel room in the next twenty minutes. They're definitely going to be late.

For one thing, Santana can't find her phone.

For another thing, Brittany had to change the baby's diaper—and therefore change the baby out of her costume and back into it again—which, hello, takes a long time.

Brittany has just finished sanitizing her hands and has begun to button up the snaps on the baby's onesie when Santana passes by the nursery door all in a rush. Brittany has her back to the door, so she can't see Santana. She just hears Santana's footfalls, fast and heavy with worry as they tread along the carpet. Brittany listens as Santana opens the hamper outside the nursery door and rummages through the dirty clothes, perhaps hoping to find the phone in some forgotten pocket or pouch.

"Oh my god, Britt. What if I left it at the airport when we picked up your sister?" Santana asks, frantic.

Brittany doesn't turn around. She continues at her task, adjusting the baby's squishy, green hat and smiling so that the baby will smile back. Brittany counts the baby's teeth—all three of them—and presses on the baby's bellybutton as if it were a doorknob. The baby grins, and Brittany loves her dimples.

She got them from Santana.

"Trick or treat," Brittany coos, and the baby giggles, reaching up with grabby fingers to snatch at Brittany's hair. Brittany answers Santana, still in the hall, "We didn't even go into the airport, though, so, like, your phone would have to still be in the car. And you checked the car for it already."

"Maybe it fell out when we got to the hotel. Oh god, this is why I shouldn't put my phone on silent. Now we can't even call it," Santana frets.

"Maybe we could call it," Brittany offers. "Vibrate can be way loud if the phone is on a hard surface." Brittany adjusts the ruffle on the baby's collar, giving the baby another smile, and then adjusts her own costume.

Santana skitters behind her, appearing in the doorway to the nursery. "Could you call it?" she asks. There's a second's pause as she takes in the room, the baby on the changing table, Brittany standing in front of her. Confused, Santana says, "Britt, what are you supposed to be?"

Brittany picks up the baby off the changing table, feeling the weight of the baby in her shoulders and along her upper arms. She turns around to face her wife, showing off the full effect of her and the baby's costumes. With her free hand, she gestures to the ears on her headband. "'I'm a mouse. Duh,'" she deadpans. When Santana doesn't smile right away, Brittany amends, "Actually, I'm supposed to be you."

Santana looks from her daughter to her wife, confused. "A mouse and a watermelon?" she says, wearing an almost worried expression, like she's missed a joke.

"We're not supposed to match," Brittany assures her. "I didn't want to take away her independence on her first Halloween, you know?"

Santana still looks worried, two steps behind everything that's happening. "But I don't have a costume," she says, brow knitting together.

"Sure you do," Brittany grins, going over to meet her and passing the baby into her arms, the maneuver graceful and practiced from so much repetition. "You're a red-hot baby mama... you know, 'cause you're wearing a red shirt, and you're hot, and we have a baby."

The joke causes Santana to laugh a little, to relax just a bit but still not all the way. They have to find Santana's phone before Santana will calm down entirely. Santana adjusts the baby on her hip while Brittany brushes by her, headed to their bedroom.

"I'm gonna grab my cell," Brittany explains. "I'll call your number, so listen for any vibrate-y sounds." She boops the baby on the nose in passing. "You help Mama listen, little girl," she commends.

Santana follows Brittany into the hallway and then stops there, waiting, while Brittany continues on. Ducking into the bedroom, Brittany glances at the nightstand clock and sees that she and Santana have five minutes before they're late for meeting her sister. That means they have about eight minutes before her sister will call, asking them where the hell they are. With any luck, they'll have found Santana's phone by then. Brittany digs her own phone out of her coat pocket and stands beside her dresser, hitting the first contact on her speed dial and listening for a vibration anywhere against the still.

In the distance, the baby gurgles, but nothing buzzes or vibrates. Brittany's phone rings through once, twice, three times, four, five, and then—

"Britt! Call it again! I think I heard something," Santana says.

Brittany steps out into the hall and finds Santana leaned through the door to the nursery. The baby chews Santana's necklace, taking the blood red beads into her mouth, trying to cut new teeth against their sharp angles. The baby looks up at Brittany and Santana with wide, interested eyes, oblivious to what has her mothers so preoccupied.

She makes the cutest little watermelon.

Brittany hits the button on her speed dial again and stands beside Santana, listening.

At first, there is nothing more to hear than the baby's heavy, spitty breaths and Santana and Brittany's light, anxious ones; nothing but the house creaking down, settling with October cold; nothing but the sounds of cars outside on the road, of the voices of parents and children striking out to trick-or-treat, of dogs excited in their yards for the holiday, for the impending nightfall, for so many people out and about all at once.

Then, there comes a quiet drone, a whir.

Santana steps toward it, entering the nursery, and Brittany follows after her. Brittany's phone rings, once, twice, three times—

"There," Brittany says, gesturing to the side of the changing table. She goes over, crouching down, reaching for the whirring sound's source, and produces the baby's diaper bag, which had been tucked into the corner.

Sure enough, the bag buzzes.

Santana raises an eyebrow, and Brittany does, too.

"Don't tell me I left it in there...," Santana groans, but Brittany just laughs, pulling back the zipper and fumbling around in the side pocket until she feels the phone, tucked in beside a spare teething ring.

She produces the phone from the pocket with a flourish, and Santana groans again.

"Is your mama silly?" Brittany asks the baby.

"The silliest," Santana says, bouncing the baby on her hip. She shakes her head, annoyed at herself. "God, what time is it?" she asks. "The munchkin is gonna be so piss—er, ticked off," she catches herself. She plants a quick kiss on the back of the baby's head.

"We're late," Brittany shrugs, "but we'll get there eventually. Now that we found your phone, do you want to take that picture?"

Santana sighs. "Might as well, right?"

"Might as well," Brittany agrees.

They head to the living room, and Brittany takes the baby with her onto the couch while Santana arranges the phone, setting up its camera timer and propping it on the coffee table so that the lens will face them. For a second, Santana pauses, primping her hair and checking her reflection in the window. Late afternoon light streams through the glass, reflecting against her jewelry. Fleetingly, she looks just like she did years ago as a teenager, young and shyly beautiful, but then she turns to Brittany and their daughter and the shyness passes, replaced with something more confident, beautiful in a different way. Mature.

Santana smiles, wide, dimples showing.

"Are my girls ready?" she asks, leaning down to press the button on the phone once Brittany gives her the go-ahead.

She clicks the timer on and then scurries over to fit herself on the couch. She and Brittany hold the baby straddling their two laps. Their knees knock together, and their shoulders touch, and Brittany can read so much in Santana, as has always been her purview. At the last second, Santana leans over to adjust the angle of Brittany's mouse headband but then ends up ducking forward, pressing a kiss to Brittany's cheek just as the flash goes off.

Brittany doesn't need to see the resulting photo to know exactly what it shows: their daughter in a pink and "seeded" onesie with green ruffles and a puffy hat, chewing on her fist and beaming, the cutest tiny watermelon in the world; herself in mouse ears, grinning and scrunching up her nose; and her wife, Santana, ridiculously, wonderfully in love with her, showing her just how so with a sweet, forever touch.


End file.
